


Emergency Evacuation

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [129]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 02:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20827847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: Some days things just go wrong, and there are days when Lester really, really dislikes lifts.





	Emergency Evacuation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [knitekat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knitekat/gifts).

Pain shot through Lester’s kneecap as he got out of the car.

He’d knelt on a stone the previous day doing some weekend gardening at his cottage on the Mendips. His status as walking wounded had provoked much amusement from Lyle, who’d done a six-hour caving trip the same day with no ill effects. Reluctantly, Lester had agreed to let Lyle drive the Mercedes on the return to the ARC, but his knee had still stiffened up, leaving him wondering if he would actually have been better off driving.

“I am taking the lift, cherub,” he declared. “Please feel free to dash up the stairs three at a time in a suitably manly fashion.”

Lyle grinned. “And desert you in your hour of need? You wound me to the core, snowflake.”

Lester jabbed the call button for the lift with more firmness than was probably necessary. He needed coffee, but before that, he needed a visit to the loo. A second drink before leaving home hadn’t been entirely wise.

The lift doors closed behind them and it started its smooth ascent… then juddered to a halt, the lights flickering alarming.

Lester rolled his eyes in annoyance and waited impatiently for the lift to start moving again.

And waited…

After two minutes, Lyle muttered something obscene and pressed the emergency call button.

A moment later, the words, “… doin’ me best, but the ruddy archbish ain’t ‘elpin… call out to the palace…” indicated that the Head of Maintenance was at least aware of their plight, even though Lester failed to understand the relevance of the archbishop.

Lyle pressed the intercom, and amused grin on his face. “Thanks, Norm. Which one’s bothering you this time?”

“’im up in York,” came the disembodied reply.

“As quickly as you can, please, Norman,” Lester said, hoping to forestall a lengthy theological debate.

“…doin’ me best,” Norman repeated.

Lyle leaned back against the wall of the lift. “Relax, sweetie. “It only took an hour to fix this when it happened last week.”

Lester looked at his boyfriend in horror. “There is no way I can stand around in this lift for an hour!”

The metal box that could carry 10 people, according to the sign on the wall, suddenly seemed an awful lot smaller than it had done a few minutes ago and Lester could feel a cold nodule of panic forming in his stomach. Despite having no problem in confined spaces underground, the thought of being stuck in a lift had always repelled him and he always preferred to avoid them where possible. If it hadn’t been for his blasted knee…

“We might have to.” Lyle’s hand around the back of his neck and the gun-callused fingers kneaded the knots of tension that has sprung up, then he pulled Lester in for a gentle kiss. A moment later, the soldier pulled back and looked at him with a hint of puzzlement. “You’re really not happy, are you?”

Lester gave into the desire to let out a long-suffering sigh, of the type he’d honed to perfection over the years. “No, I’m not, I don’t like lifts at the best of times, and I happen to be dying for a piss.”

Lyle punched the intercom button again.

“Can’t talk an’ fix the buggerin’ thing at the same time, laddie.” Then in response to Lyle’s question as to how long the repair was likely to take, the response, “’ow long is a flamin’ piece o’ string?” was not overly comforting.

“Do me a favour, Norm, and put Blade on, will you?” Lyle asked, and Lester could see he was already eyeing up the emergency hatch in the top of the lift.

“You’re not going to go all Bruce Willis on me, are you, Jon?” Lester asked.

“I will if Blade can get the doors on the first floor open. I don’t think we’re that far off.” When Blade came on the intercom a few minutes later, Lyle said, “Mate, do me a favour and get the lift doors open on the first floor. I’m going to see if I can get up there. And grab me one of the long tape ladders from the stores on your way.”

“On it, boss,” came the laconic response.

Lyle put his hands up and pushed against the panel set into the ceiling of the lift, just off centre. It went up easily, and Lyle pushed it to one side.

Lester moved into a corner to give him space to work, knowing what was going to come next. Lyle bent his legs and jumped, grabbing with his hands for the edge of the emergency hatch. His fingers caught the lip easily, and Lyle hailed himself up, proving that the time he spent in the gym doing chin-ups had been well spent. Lester could see his muscles straining with the effort, but once his boyfriend had his elbows above the hatch, it didn’t take him long to get the rest of the way.

He pressed the intercom. “Norman, if you would be so kind as to suspend hostilities with the Archbishop of York for the moment. Lieutenant Lyle is currently on top of the lift pretending to be Bruce Willis in a cut-price remake of Die Hard.”

“Bollocks,” called Lyle cheerfully. “I asked for a ladder, not one of the M4s!”

“Lieutenant Lyle claims I am mistaken in my analogy…”

“Buggrit,” Norman responded gnomically.

“OK down there?” Lyle called.

“Entirely peachy, dear boy.” Which wasn’t wholly truthful, but nor was Lester about to admit to the growing feeling that the sides of the lift were gradually edging towards him. Grumbling wasn’t likely to speed up the resolution of the problem, although it might help to relieve his frustration… “You do realise there’s no way I can emulate your simian prowess, don’t you, my little bushbaby?”

“Why do you think I asked Blade to fetch a ladder?”

The lift juddered rather alarmingly as Lyle moved about on top of the metal box, but reassuringly it showed no sign of plummeting to the bottom of the lift shaft

“Jon, are your thumbs itching?”

Lyle’s amused laughter provided the answer to that question, but it was scant comfort as Lester tried not to think about the pressure on his bladder. The next time Lyle wanted to stop at Membury services for a bacon butty on the way back to the ARC, Lester would be very inclined to agree rather than insisting he waited until they reached their destination.

“If Blade can get the door open, I can get us out of here, snookums. It’ll be easy.”

Lester groaned. “Jon, what have I told you about not tempting fate?”

“You’re a rational atheist, so don’t try that line on me.” A moment later, he heard Lyle say. “Nice one mate, now just get it open the rest of the way.” From which Lester presumed that Blade was making some progress opening the upper doors.

Lester was certain that the next part of the operation would be neither healthy nor safe, but with Norman still at loggerheads with the Church of England, they might be waiting a while for a more conventional end to their current predicament, and that was not something he cared to contemplate.

“Come on, you beauty,” Lyle urged, followed by, “Got it!” The lift rocked again and then was still. “Doors open!” Lyle called. “Soon have you out!”

Two minutes later, Lester heard the clatter of something landing on top of the lift, then it rocked slightly and Lyle’s head appeared in the hatch. “OK, I’m sending a ladder down. You’re not going to need a lifeline on this, are you?”

“Am I fuck,” Lester muttered. Sod his knee, it was only ten feet.

The ladder that snaked down into the lift was made of black plastic rungs with black tape sides. It was a lightweight and packed small, making them ideal for occasional use underground or when dinosaur hunting.

When Lyle called, “Climb when ready!” he reached up and took hold of the ladder, preparing to climb.

With his foot pulling the ladder taut, Lester responded, “Climbing!”

Progress was easy compared with some of the trips he’d done underground, when ladders would all too often twist, making climbing difficult. Despite the pain in his knee, his head and shoulders quickly emerged from the top of the hatch and wriggled through then Lyle was holding out a hand for him to take hold of as he clambered to his feet, mischief dancing in his hazel eyes.

Above him, the warm light of the ARC’s corridors cut through the gloom of the shaft like sunlight slanting through clouds. Lester allowed himself a small smile of relief as he looked up at the next section of black ladder leading to the open lift doors approximately ten feet overhead.

“I hope that’s belayed somewhere decent,” he remarked, taking hold of the ladder.

“Climb when ready,” Blade called, ignoring the comment.

Lester did just that, emerging from the lift shaft to come face to face with Blade, who was sitting on the floor with the ladder belayed off his foot.

“Thank you, Richards,” he said, climbing out and standing up to dust down his still-immaculate suit, carefully not remarking on the choice of belay. In the absence of anything better, Blade had opted for an old cavers’ favourite. He’d done the same himself once in North Hill Swallet, so he could hardly grumble on this occasion.

Lyle emerged next to him, grinning. “Thanks, mate.”

“I’m pleased to have enlivened everyone’s morning,” Lester said. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

As casually as he could manage, Lester sauntered down the corridor in the direction of the nearest toilet.

By the time he reached his office, there was coffee and a Danish pastry on his desk, and his laptop case was on his desk, no doubt courtesy of Lyle.

“I think we’ll declare this as Forces of Darkness: 1, Heavenly Host: Nil,” Lester remarked, when Norman appeared in his doorway an hour later and muttered something intelligible. “I hope you’ve lodged a strongly worded complaint with Lambeth Palace?”

“Bugger ‘em!” Norman remarked cheerfully, and wandered off, his shock of white hair looking even more startled than usual. “Bugger ‘em all.”

A sentiment with which Lester heartily concurred, wondering for a moment quite what went on between Norman and the various archbishops. But he was willing to bet that they were probably the only top-secret government establishment to receive Christmas cards from both Buckingham Palace and Lambeth Palace.

He’d start worrying the day they got one from the Vatican.


End file.
